


Kind of, Not Really, but Sometimes Boyfriend

by Nimravidae



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Humanstuck, M/M, douchebag boyfriends being cute, fluffy I guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left - no warnings, no packing, no note (okay, he left a note, but that's it) - and still hasn't called you. And your name is Sollux Captor, and you swear your (kind of, not really, but sometimes) boyfriend is going to be the death of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind of, Not Really, but Sometimes Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little thing written for a friend as a prompt. First HS fic actually posted on a website that's not tumblr.

He was unspecific – as always – when he left. Not that you cared.  
  
No, you never cared. Hell, that’s how you should introduce yourself. Your name is Sollux Captor and you don’t care about where your kind-of-really-but-never-maybe-if-you're-desperate boyfriend, Eridan Ampora is.  
  
Not at all.  
  
It all started three months ago – when you moved in. Your ex-girlfriend turned good friend, Feferi Pexies, had squealed in delight when she heard your poor ass was looking for a roommate and told you she had the perfect person for you. Someone you knew in high school, someone you’d ‘totally get a-prawn with!’  
Hah.  
  
Hah. Fucking. Hah.  
  
Eridan was the bane of your existence since you were thirteen. He made fun of your hair, short and always weirdly styled, your fashion – nothing but tees and shorts, your fucking lisp that you had until junior year. Oh and the fact that you had two dads.  
  
All in all, he was the biggest prick you’d ever met. Your AV-Club, which you gleefully hacked countless times in the year, was always the victim of ridicule by the Swim Team he’d managed and starred for. He beat the shit out of you, you beat the – not the shit, probably at least injured him a few times but nothing too serious ever - out of him.  
  
Either way, he was there, sitting on your fucking coach, his boxes in the second bedroom. You’re pretty sure you’d never felt hate like that in your life.  
  
You two fought that night, then you learned his rich as fuck dad cut him off. Apparently having one son prefer a mix of girls and boys was bad enough. But at least Cronus would follow daddies orders, where his youngest son wanted to major in history and not join some sketchy business. That fact that he chased the D more than anything was a massive plus towards the ‘kick Eridan out’ list.  
  
So he did. Right onto your doorstep.  
  
You broke out the good stuff – drinking away the old pain of high school tormentors and the new familial pain. You woke up next to him the next morning, it was in his recently set up bed. Still cold and bare of everything that he would use to mark it as his. You got up and walked to your own bed, letting him wake up alone a few hours later. Neither of you said a word. And neither of you made a comment about the slight limp you had for the rest of the day.  
  
Next time, he was in your bed, curled around you looking very vulnerable and very naked. You let him stay.  
  
The third time you cooked him breakfast in the morning. He snorted and called it mediocre – you rolled your eyes and called him a prick. He laughed and so did you.  
  
The fourth time he cooked you breakfast. Holy shit it was probably the best thing you’d ever tasted. That was how Eridan got saddled with cooking responsibilities. You did the dishes.  
  
You fell into a rhythm. You’d go to class an hour and a half before he did – getting up at seven-twenty sharp and leaving by seven-forty. Your hair was usually damp and he was still in bed. Your bed more often than not. He’d get up whenever, do his thing and he’d be back an hour or so after you got back from work.  
  
You knew he wasn’t at school or at work the whole time but you didn’t care. He wasn’t yours.  
  
One month into the… arrangement you did something unthinkable. Unforgivable. You were both lying there, your head on his chest and sweat dripping down the curve of your spine – stinging the marks his nails carved into you and soothing the bruises his hands tattooed on your skin.  
  
“Hey Eridan?”  
  
“Yeah, Sol?”  
  
“Do you wanna go out sometime? We fuck enough as it is, figure I should buy you dinner too at some point.”  
  
“You askin’ if you wanna be… boyfriends or somethin’?”  
  
“Hey look, he got it on the second try. Points for the fishbrain. Yes, I’m asking if you want to be my boyfriend.”  
  
“Oh…”  
  
You braced yourself for rejection that never came. Instead, you felt the shrug he gave and heard the well hidden relief in his, “Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?”  
  
It was the start of – well, it was the start of something to say the least. You took him out to dinner, he returned the favor – you treated him to a movie, he insisted on a dancing class you both ended up hating. The routine you’d had previously started to shift, instead of returning to lock himself in his bedroom and do whatever history majors did in their offtime, probably jack off, he’d stick around while you washed dishes. He’d pick up a dishrag and dry as you rinsed – silence hanging comfortably between the two of you. Sometimes you’d sit on the counter, watching him stir of pot of whatever Italian food you couldn’t pronounce and hand him spices as he asked. He’d reward your simple obedience with a small peck on your nose or your cheekbones — it was almost uncomfortable how domestic you’d become.  
  
You ate together, watched movies together, slept together in both the sexual and literal meanings – the way you’d fallen in step with him so perfectly wouldn’t been disgusting if you didn’t love him so fucking much. And you did.  
  
So never mind what you said before – maybe you should start introducing yourself like that. Your name is Sollux Captor and you love your boyfriend, Eridan Ampora. God, you’re pathetic – but it’s not like you plan on telling him anytime soon. He probably knows – he definitely knows. If he doesn’t that’s his own damn fault – you tell him a million times, every time you kiss him softer and softer, every time you sit and toy with that stupid and pretentious purple streak in his hair, every time you come home with his favorite over-priced and disgustingly sweet coffee in hand just for him – you tell him in something other than words.  
  
But right now, you wish – you really fucking wish – you could tell him in words.  
  
Because that would mean he was here, he was home with you.  
  
You came back from the night shift at your shit job manning a bar downtown, to a note, a missing suitcase and a long-gone boyfriend.  
  
“Something came up – had to leave in a rush, I’ll explain when I can. – Eri.”  
  
He scrawled it in his loopy and overly girly handwriting, the purple ink screaming out at out louder than the muted voices in your head, the ones that constantly taunt you and hate you. They’d been quieter when Eridan was there, his own praise enough to drown out the residual effect. You left him six voice mails.  
  
You called Feferi. You called Karkat – who proceeded to inform you that he doesn’t give a fuck and if you ever call him at three-forty in the morning again, he’ll personally rip your balls off and feed them to his girlfriend’s pet lizard.  
  
FF had no idea and Eridan still wasn’t answering his phone.  
  
That was three days ago. And he hasn’t called you yet.  
  
Part of you was panicking; hardcore - heart pounding uneven beats in your eardrums, palms sweating, pacing all through the night and mumbling to yourself - panic. There was the faintest wear against your carpeting out from your (and Eridans, let’s face it) bedroom and into the living room, circled around your shitty, scratched and chipping coffee table and back into the room. All from how constantly you followed the path, checking your cellphone and grumbling.  
  
Clearly he wasn’t happy with you anymore. But why didn’t he say anything?  
  
Was this some form of cutting you off, breaking up without breaking up? No, he’s not that douche-y. Well – he is in a different way.  
  
Did something happen with his father’s sketchy business? Then why didn’t he tell you?  
  
Why didn’t he tell you anyway? Does he not trust you? Is it that bad? That important? Couldn’t he just call? Just. Fucking. Call you? Text you? Email? Send a fucking letter?  
  
Ring. Was it seriously that hard to pick up the phone and call you? Ring. What could’ve taken Eridan away from his classes just a handful of weeks before finals anyway? Ring. He seemed pretty dedicated to studying before. Ring. Was that it? He flew (you know because he didn’t take his fucking car and maybe you checked his laptop history and saw him booking a flight) to New York to study? Ring.  
  
But seriously was it that hard to call?  
  
Ring. Wait. Fuck.  
  
The phone broke through your wall of thoughts and you scrambled for it before it hit its final ring. Your knee collided with the underside of that piece of shit table as you clambered over the back of the worn-down couch, snatching your cellphone off the counter and hitting answer before landing on the floor.  
“Hello?” It came slightly muffled by the carpet in your face.  
  
There was a pause, a thick swallow immediately followed by a very hesitant, “Sol?” Oh god – this is what having a heart attack feels like, isn’t it? Your throat closed and oxygen was no longer an important aspect of your life – instead it was filled with broad-shouldered swimmers and anxiety of his absence. You tried to choke out something… anything, but it all failed. So he continued in your silence, picking up where you lacked. Like he always did.  
  
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back ta you but, it’s been a crazy last couple of days.”  
  
“Eridan,” Ah. There was your voice, low and dangerous, “Fucking Ampora, you disappear out of nowhere for three whole days with nothing but a motherfucking note saying you’ll call me. Then suddenly and not exactly surprisingly, you don’t fucking call me. Not for three whole fucking days. Now, great you’re calling me with a simple fucking, sorry I made you flip your shit, Sol. Sorry I made you panic for days, Sol. Sorry I’m total douchebag with no fucking consideration for my boyfriend.”  
  
Your blood was running hot, hotter than usual with anger and fury setting the gasoline veins alight. You panted, your knee was fucking throbbing, your arms were still tangled underneath you and goddammit Eridan is just fucking peachy and you’re so pissed.  
  
You swear if he doesn’t come home with at least one broken bone you’re gonna kill him. You did not worry about him for nothing.  
  
“My father’s dead.”  
  
Maybe it wasn’t nothing. You blinked a few times behind two-tone glasses and hesitated to reply.  
  
“I’m sorry?” It came out as a question that you didn’t intend, but it earned a bitter, if slightly tinny, laugh from the other end of the line, “So’m I. Except, not really.”  
  
“So, you didn’t call because?”  
  
“Because I was so tied up keepin’ Cro and both of their shit in order I didn’t have time. I’m sorry, Sol but… it wasn’t exactly expected.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Your anger melted out, shifting your mood from righteous anger into a more relaxed and tired as fuck smoothness. You shift as he talks, something about Cronus and being a ‘massive fucking tool who no amount of counseling can get him to live in 2013 like the rest of us,’ and settle more against the floor – sprawled on your back.  
  
He talks for an hour and a half straight and you never say a word past “Mmhm” and “Cool”. Eventually when he runs out of breath, he pauses and mumbles softly into the receiver.  
“Huh?” You ask, the sounds probably twice as muffled by one of his ridiculous scarves.  
He cleared his throat and fuck you can hear the blush he’s sporting right now.  
  
“I asked if ya missed me.”  
  
“Course I did, you jackass.” You reply instantly, “I went batshit when you bailed with no warning or explanation.” You attempted to suppress a yawn with little success, heaving yourself to your feet. Eridan gets the message you didn’t want to send.  
  
“You should get some sleep,” He said, the smirk evident in his tone more than anything. You shake your head before you can catch yourself and just say. “Nope.”  
  
“Do it,” He replied – and this time you comply, walking off to your bedroom with a resigned sigh, you crawl into the cold sheets and immediately latch onto the pale violet pillow Eridan claimed as his, phone still pressed to your ear. You didn’t intend to do it so sleepily, or so soon, or so over the phone, but you mumble it into the pillow anyway.  
  
He asked you what you said, and you repeat it with a yawn.  
  
You can hear the smile as he says, “Love you too, Sol.”


End file.
